The telephone rang at 2 AM. Since Cassandra’s due date had passed three days earlier, I knew what it probably meant. But I was skeptical. I had a previously uncontested theory about birth order as it relates to my parents’ grandchildren. Each had entered this world one day of the week after the other, starting with Cassandra herself on a Sunday evening. Her brother Shannon arrived on a Monday, their sister Rachel on a Tuesday. Next came cousin Lexi on a Wednesday, followed by cousin Erica on a Thursday. Cassandra’s first son Patrick arrived predictably on a Friday morning. And he had been 10 days late. This call came on a Thursday, only 3 days late. And it didn’t sound urgent. In fact, Cassandra sounded perfectly normal. Not really sleepy, though. And more than a tinge excited. “I think I might be in labor,” she said.

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